


Day 21 and 22: Laced Drink and Hallucination

by Drvivc (Fight_Surrender)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [13]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Divergent, Hallucinations, Lucy's ghost, Not Beta Read, October Prompt Challenge, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Poor Simon, Probably a bit angsty, The Mage gets what he deserves, Watford (Simon Snow), Whumptober 2019, fuck the mage, laced drink, vindication for Lucy, watford school of magicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 09:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21371833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_Surrender/pseuds/Drvivc
Summary: The Mage stands up, his finger stabbing into the air vaguely to his right.  “You. Are. Wrong. The Humdrum is the monster. And I am going to beat him.”
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Whumptober 2019 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538212
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	Day 21 and 22: Laced Drink and Hallucination

**Baz**

“Somebody’s roofied The Mage!” Dev bursts into our room with the news. “You need to come see, it’s brilliant!”

Snow is at his desk, trying to pass for studying. He leaps to his feet. “What’s this?”

“They must have laced his drink, he’s totally off his knob.” Dev is obviously relishing Snow’s distress. “Looks like he’s hallucinating. Arguing into thin air. Your Jedi Master has lost it, mate,” he smirks.

Snow takes Dev by the collar and pins him to the wall, “I imagine it was you that did it, then?” I think Snow has forgotten that I’m in the room, as I should be the logical target here.

Dev grins, “No, but I wish I did. It’s comic gold. Hopefully someone’s got a mobile to record it. The memes will be epic!”

Snow growls and releases Dev with a shove. “Where is he?”

“Ground zero, the dining hall. You should take one of Baz’s handkerchiefs, the Mage is blubbering like a baby down there.”

“Fuck off, Dev.” Snow’s voice recedes as he clatters down the stairs.

I head down at a more leisurely pace. I’ve got an image to uphold, after all. Although I _am_ eager to see this. The Mage, minus his carefully polished demeanor. I wonder who’s done this? This has Fiona written all over it, to be honest. If it was her, I’m glad she left me out of her plans this time. I’ve got exams.

When I reach the dining hall, it’s easy to see where the action is. There is a crowd gathered at the end near the giant hearth. Upon first glance, the mage just looks drunk. He’s loose, slumped forward on the table, his ridiculous pointy green hat is askew on his head. The red feather waving in sync with the tankard he’s waving in his left hand as he emphasizes what he’s saying. However, his eyes are clear and his words don’t slur.

I make my way through the crowd to the front. Snow is a few feet away trying to get The Mage’s attention, to no avail. The Mage is fixated on the empty spot next to him on the wooden bench. His eyes are red-rimmed, like he’s been crying, but now he’s angry. So angry he’s spitting as he shouts. At nothing. At someone?

“_I did what I had to do, Lucy_.”

Who’s Lucy? I wonder.

“_We were the most powerful magicians of our age. We were the only ones who could have done it. You made the ultimate sacrifice to save the world of mages. You knew the risk_.”

The Mage stands up, his finger stabbing into the air vaguely to his right. “_You. Are. Wrong. The Humdrum is the monster. And I am going to beat him.”_

What’s happening here? This isn’t a hallucination; he is having an argument with _someone_. This Lucy person, whoever she is. There’s something, hovering at the corner of my mind, flitting in the shadows. Something from that blasted potions seminar last semester. A potion – that summoned ghosts. Pulled them through the veil, so that only the drinker could see them. I look up at the light fixtures, a thousand flickering candles and it comes to me: _Spectraphemera_. That’s it! Could this Lucy be a ghost? Could the potion have summoned her?

The Mage is raging. His hands are on his hips, he’s bent over this poor Lucy person. He’s got to be shouting in her face. Suddenly, he falls back, holding his hand to his face like he was slapped. I hope he was slapped. His features darken. He grasps what I can only imagine are Lucy’s shoulders and shakes them. He’s inches from her face, (where I presume her face is) his knuckles are white. “_That is not _just_ a boy_.”

His face has gone purple with rage. Voice guttural. I think he’s forgotten half the school is here watching.

“_That_ boy _is the greatest mage. We made him. He will save us all. That transcends love, it transcends motherhood, fatherhood, family. He is our greatest weapon. That’s what he is. That’s what he will be. It is _you_ who doesn’t understand_.”

The room goes silent. For a moment, I can’t breathe. My heart drops as the enormity of what was just said sinks in. Immediately I look to Simon. He’s gone pale as a visitor, and slowly slumps to sit on the bench like someone let his air out.

A crash and explosion of sparks draws my attention back to the Mage. He’s jolting backward like he’s being pushed, falling into the stack of wood near the fireplace. Logs are rolling into the fire and onto the floor. Another invisible shove sends the Mage tumbling into a rack of tools. He emits a garbled shout and goes very still, a fireplace poker protruding from the middle of his chest. Red tendrils seep across the green canvas of his tunic.

Pandemonium ensues.

_Snow_.

I need to find Simon.

In slow motion I look to the table, the melee is swirling around him, Simon Snow is sitting there, staring into the distance with one hand on the table, the other curled over his mouth.

“Snow.” He doesn’t hear me.

“Simon,” Louder. His eyes meet mine. Dull blue.

I take his hand, “let’s go.”

I lead him through the crowd. He doesn’t drop my hand once we’re out of the dining hall. When we get to our room, Snow crawls into his bed fully clothed. He doesn’t speak.

I sit next to him on his bed. I don’t know what to say.

“Snow,” I venture.

Blue eyes, rimmed with red.

“I can help you—sleep. Deal with this tomorrow?”

He nods. Once.

I pull out my wand and point it at him, “**sleep like the dead**.”

The tension leaves Snow’s face and body and soft snores fill the room.

We will deal with this tomorrow.


End file.
